10/11/2017

Part finish, part work in progress, here, in yarn and stitches, is the proof that I’m an eternal optimist. An un-moody blanket from a glass half full sort of knitter.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Way back when, two whole months ago, in the glorious hustle, bustle and yarn fumes of Yarndale, there was one stand that I just kept gravitating back towards every time I was in the area. Hopefully she didn’t think I was stalking her, because Jem Weston‘s beautiful, beautiful stand was a haven of some of my most favourite colours, all teals and blues and yellows, with a dash of burnt orange for good measure.

There was not a single thing on that stand that I did not instantly want to start knitting (and her website is full of all the pretties that I worked hard to resist and some that I didn’t), but right at the front sat her Moody Blues blanket, snuggled up in just the perfect spot to be petted and stroked, and longed for.

It was soft and snuggly. It looked fun to knit but not too taxing on an overworked brain. It would be the perfect colours for Pip’s room. It was in one of my favourite yarns (Rooster Almerino – just about the only thing with alpaca in that I can knit and not start scratching).

But I have a blanket underway. I have Hydrangea, which I adore. It’s the size of a slightly large scarf right now and I love every row of it. I didn’t need a new blanket to make, and by the size of the ever bulging Yarndale bag, I wasn’t going to be short of things to knit.

Well we all know how that went. In my defence I held out until we were almost ready to go home, telling myself that if, despite all the overwhelming yarn fumes, I still really really wanted it, the first five balls and the pattern could come home with me.

It was addictive before I’d finished the first square. For the last few weeks, every night after I’ve finished work and finished my writing course homework (and yes that’s why there have been very few blog posts around here of late), I sit down and knit a stripe.

Each week runs corner to corner, so Mondays and Sundays are quite tiny and Thursday is a nice big stripe across the centre of the week, and all the colours depend on what sort of day it’s been.

Yellow (custard) is for the very best days, the sort of days that hold memories you’ll treasure, even if they’re only little moments. There are weekend adventures and a visit home to Devon, visits to us by friends and family, and friends that we hope will become family, the day when John brought the children in to meet me for lunch and the odd day of profesisonal success.

Turquoise (beach) is a happy day; fun but not quite so stellar; those tend to be good work days and the rest of the weekends.

Pale duck-egg (glace) is for middle of the road days; the ones that are just normal, and tend to be a large part of my working week.

Teal (ocean) is for the days that are a bit stressful, an annoying day at work or when everyone at home is just plain out of sorts.

Grey (caviar) is for the really stressful days. There’s only one of those so far and it was the day when Elma went to hospital in an ambulance, which I think is fair enough (she’s absolutely fine now, it was just a virus that gave her symptoms of asthma).

Five balls, one of each, has produced five squares, and just the start of the fifth, and what is abundantly clear is that my days are middle of the road, or happy, or happiest, and I’m convinced the only reason I haven’t run out of quite so much yellow is because the weekends run out to the corner.

The thing is, that however my day has been, when I sit down to think about the stripe, and my hand hovers near a teal or a duck-egg, I start to think about all the little moments that have been special; the children waiting for me on the doorstep when I come home from a really long day; the glowing endorsement from a client that makes all of the work to get that result completley justified; John bringing me home a box of my favourite bath bombs because he’d taken the children for another round of shoes while I stayed home to work and he wanted me to know how much all four of them love me and appreciate the breadwinning. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about the things that make me grateful.

These little knitted squares, I love. The finished blanket, whether I do the snuggle version or the full on blanket, will be gorgeous any which way, and when I finish it, and wrap it around my tiny son as he pretends to go to sleep each night, he’ll be cuddled up in the memories of happy days and I life for which I am truly thankful.

Space for the Butterflies is…

A story of motherhood from a slightly hippy working mama who couldn't stop writing if she tried. It's my creativity, set out in fabric, yarn, and cake, our family memories and adventures and all the evidence you need that photography is addictive.
Hi, I'm Carie, welcome to the story so far...